He hissed and turned away from the gate, feeling more aroused with anger as she kept honking aggressively at the gate. Or in other words, at him. What was wrong with this girl? Didn't she know that if she were to spend the night honking at him, no one in the world will make him open the gate for her? Not even his employer, which was sadly her father.

　　This time, when she honked he was sure it lasted for more than a minute, he hissed again and palmed his face out of exasperation, waiting for the worse. Because the worse had always come, and this time too, even before he exhaled, the door got banged open.

　　“Who the hell do you think you are, Mujaheed?! What have gone into your head?!” Those words were the first he heard, and as he always did, he didn't look up at her. It was a waste of time. Or rather, he wanted to suppress himself from smacking her or suffocating her throat until she lost her breath.

　　She moved to the bench he was seated on and stood above his head, her hands placed on akimbo while she glared at him. He didn't have to look up at her to know that she was glaring at him. She had always glared at him, always hated and he made sure he annoyed her and made her angry as much as she did to him every blessed day.

　　“What are you paid for?” She asked with an angry tone and he fixed his eyes on the small cup he was taking his night tea from. She hissed and looked away huffing out an angry breath. “Do you take me as a nuisance? How could I be speaking to you and you're ignoring me? I've been honking at you for over five minutes! What do you mean?!”

　　It had came to the place he always wanted, where she would point out the kind of person she was and everyday, unless it got to that point, he would never budge. And right now, she pointed it out he took his eyes off from his cup, “There you are, a nuisance. I thought you've long realized that no matter what you do, I won't ever open the gate for you the moment it pass 8pm at night?” He was talking so calm, with a voice rich with melody and sophistication. Which she sometimes found unnerving.

　　“What do you mean?” She clamored. “Do you perhaps take yourself as my father or what? To be this bossy whenever I want to go out?! That's none of your business, Mujaheed! Look, just go and open the gate for me. That's your job, a freaking gateman and you have no right to be questioning me like this! I've heard enough!”

　　He softly hissed and poured himself more of his black tea, she glared at the pot and prayed for the day she would break it, all along with his tea things as she called them. “What's the time now?” He asked, casually sipping his tea as though he wasn't doing a thing that go against his job.

　　She hated herself the moment she found herself lifting up her wrist and she checked the time, it was past 10pm at night. Yes, she was going out this late at night, but what the hell was his business?! Wasn't it his job just to open the gate and close? And to guard the house too? Who the hell was this man? And whatever gave him the effrontery to be acting this way, she would love to know or see it.

　　“It's past 10pm at night, go back inside unless but if you persist, you can as well open the gate yourself.” He sipped his tea and ignored her standing figure above his head. He knew if she had the strength to, nothing could stop her from smacking his head so hard or even strangling him to death.

　　She hissed and glared at him even though she was sure it was only but a waste of effort. He didn't notice, and even if he did, he wouldn't mind. “Mujaheed, for the last time, open the gate for me.” She said through gritted teeth, hoping for the day she would successfully get some bandits to deal with this bunch of arrogance.

　　How could a voice sound as sultry as hers did? And she was infuriated, a minute away from shouting her lungs out? Mujaheed wondered and hissed, this girl, lady or woman, because he wasn't sure how he should address her, irritated the veins in him. He hissed again and when he looked up, his eyes fell into her bloodshot eyes, the anger was evident.

　　“You have two legs and hands, don't you? Open the gate yourself or stop shouting on me. Please, just go away, I wouldn't want someone to walk by and think we're having a simple conversation, which will be so embarrassing if you ask me.”

　　He didn't have to look up at her to know that he had hit a nerve, because Mujaheed could say this had been their routine, almost everyday. Or maybe on days her father wasn't around. She laughed humourlessly, the kind of laughter that could tell her bewilderment.

　　She clapped her hands and looked at him with an awe stricken expression, “Did you hear yourself right? Ya ilahi! This man is seriously-” She was cut off by her phone and she lifted up the screen.

　　“Hey, Babe.” She callrd out, smiling even though she was burning wihin.

　　“Come on, Babe, we've been waiting for you for long, is your Dad around? Do I need to come before you can sneak out?” The voice from the other end spoke, and she glared at the nonchalant figure of Mujaheed before she spoke back.

　　“I'm so sorry, Babe. I've been held up by something, but I'll be there in a bit, sorry.” She apologised silently with a faint smile on her lips and she could imagine the annoyed expression on his face.

　　“Okay, Babe. Please come over soon. I'll hang up now.” And after the call ended, she glared at Mujaheed before she furiously walked back into the house. She opened the gate herself and went back to the car. She flung her bag to the back seat and aggressively drove out of the house.

　　She slowed down when she was sure that if she spoke he would hear her, “If you won't open the gate for me, you can close it. Unless you want to guard an open house.” She hissed loudly and rolled her window up before she drove off.

　　Mujaheed stared at the specks of dust her tyres left behind. But let's wait and see who'll unlock the house for you when you're back, he mused to himself and angrily stood to close the gate. Something caught his eyes on the floor, something sparkling.

　　He closed the gate before he bent down and took it into his palms, scrutinizing it before he understood what it was. It was a bracelet. Wait, he didn't quite understand. It looked like a bracelet or an anklet. It was hers, without doubt. He hissed softly and slid it inot his breast pocket. He had no intention of giving it back to her, but he didn't know why he didn't throw it away.

　　“Here's your dinner, Ya Mujaheed!” A lady walked over to him, smiling widely and it looked as if she had ran or jogged.

　　“Oh, that's so nice of you, Nana. But you know...” She cut him off before he finished his sentence.

　　She placed the tray on the paddles on the entrance to his part. She looked up with a cheeky grin, “She asked me to make it the way you like it, Rice and okro soup, right? That's what I did.”

　　He suppressed his angry expression and smiled appreciatively at her, “That's so nice, Nana. Thank you so much. But didn't I tell you to tell her that she should stop doing this?” He moved to where Nana stood, staring at him with her innocent eyes.

　　She pouted her lips a bit, “I told her and she nearly killed me that day. I have no choice but to do what she asked me. You know how it is.” She smiled and he nodded his head.

　　“I know, thank you, Nana. I'll tell her myself when next I see her, okay? You should go to bed, you have school tomorrow, don't you?” He asked and chuckled when she stifled a yawn.

　　“You know I hate going to school, Ya Mujaheed. Dahlia makes sure everyone in that school hates me, it's never fun.” He liked Nana, since the first day she was brought to this house from Sardauna, the village which she had told him tons and tons of stories about, he liked her.

　　She was only an innocent 14 years old girl whose father died, the grandmother that took care of her died too, which was Alhaji's Aunt and he brought her home after the condolences. It was evident that the people in the house treated her as though she were a maid, and she found peace only with him. She was funny, carefree and she spoke alot. The first time she called him Ya Mujaheed he told her to stop, but then she said that she once had a brother and he died, he couldn't deny her that.

　　“You know how Dahlia is, Nana, don't worry about her, okay? Just focus on your studies. You should really go and sleep unless you want them to be shouting at you in the morning for being late.” She smiled and innocence dripped from her eyes.

　　“I will, thank you, Ya Mujaheed. Goodnight? Enjoy your weird meal as well.” Because who ate white rice with okro soup? None but him.